


The First That Matters

by Shut_Up_Marius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, all the aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_Up_Marius/pseuds/Shut_Up_Marius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of stories/drabbles depicting R and Enjolras' first kiss in different AUs, because I'm a sucker for those.</p><p>1. High School AU // 2. Spin The Bottle/Seven Minutes in Heaven // 3. Sculptor And Muse // 4. Under The Mistletoe // 5. Prom Chaperones</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. High school students AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features:
> 
> * annoying Courfeyrac  
> * desperate Enjolras  
> * Grantaire sees an opportunity and runs with it

«... Which is why I don't think I should study for that German exam. Why did I ever think taking German was a good idea, anyway ? Nobody speaks German nowadays, » Joly finished a long-winded rant, waving a hand like it wasn't a big deal. 

Grantaire's eyebrows rose up. « How about Germans ? You know, the people native to that one country, Germany ? »

Joly scoffed. « Please, like that's- »

Joly never finished that sentence. Instead, he was grabbed and spun around by a blonde and red hurricane, then used as a shield when said hurricane threw himself against the row of lockers Joly and Grantaire had been casually leaning against in between periods.

Joly squealed, his hands shooting up to hold onto his glasses so they wouldn't fly off his nose.

« Hide me, » the hurricane whispered, crouching slightly so Joly's slightly smaller frame would hide him but still allow him to see over his shoulder.

Grantaire chuckled. « Really ? » He couldn't believe people actually did that. « What have you done ? »

The hurricane's eyes (his blue, blue eyes) shot to him. Grantaire knew this guy. Enjolras. He'd have to have been deaf and blind not to know who he was. Enjolras was trying to lead all the revolutions at their shitty high school, basically making Grantaire's life : see him tilt at windmills was that hilarious. Also a bit sad, because Grantaire didn't necessarily want him to fail, he just knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Unisex bathrooms ? Vegetarian options in the cafeteria ? Creating a GSA ? It was all so pointless. Still Enjolras was always on Grantaire's radar. He couldn't have looked away if he'd tried, the guy was magnificent. He almost glowed with outrage each time he talked. And that one time he'd stood upon a table in the cafeteria to give a speech about how Columbus Day should be called Genocide Day and not be celebrated ? Grantaire had definitely got a boner from that one. The sun had been shining right on him and Grantaire had forgotten how to breathe.

It was such a shame they had nothing in common. And now Enjolras was hiding behind a person much shorter than he was. Grantaire had never been that close to Enjolras before, the guy was as tall as he was, which was saying something as Grantaire had been sticking out like a sore thumb since 4th grade because he'd been a skyscraper of a kid. Enjolras also happened to be glaring daggers at him at the moment, which was unsettling and very hot.

« I've done absolutely nothing. Not everyone's out to wreak havoc just for fun. I'm hiding from a friend of mine. »

« It makes perfect sense, » Grantaire drawled, rolling his eyes.

« Shut up. »

Before Grantaire could reply, Enjolras shrunk in on himself some more, prompting Grantaire to subtly look around for his source of despair. On the periphery, he saw a young guy, brown curls bobbing this way and that as he walked and scanned the hallway with laughing brown eyes, plump lips pursed in concentration.

« If anyone's got an idea, I'm all ears. Even if you think it sounds stupid. Desperate times and all that. »

« Mmh... » Joly started, his face scrunching up.

« Anything ? » Grantaire chuckled once more. « Because I've got something but- »

« Desperate times, » Enjolras repeated pointedly.

Grantaire pushed away from the locker he was leaning against and swiftly inserted himself between Enjolras and Joly so that all Enjolras could see was him. Grantaire was pleased to see he was a little taller than the guy. He slowly leant in and laid a forearm by Enjoras' face on the metal door.

« Don't freak out, » he said softly, willing Enjolras to understand what he was trying to do.

He had no idea what had possessed him. Well, that wasn't true. He knew why his hormone-addled teenage brain had immediately jumped to an image of him kissing Enjolras, it was a bit obvious. But to think he'd ever have the guts to act on the fantasy, that was a stretch.

Honestly, he fully expected Enjolras to push him away, or punch him, or both, but he didn't. He made sure he went in really slow so weaseling out would still be an option for him, but beyond his blue eyes getting a bit bigger, Enjolras didn't react.

Grantaire kept his eyes open when their lips connected ; Enjolras didn't look like he was closing his anytime soon. It wasn't like he was ever coming so close to these baby blues again either, so he thought he'd make the best of his time and commit them to memory.

It was official, then : everything about Enjolras was perfect, even his lips and how soft they were under Grantaire's slightly chapped ones. He didn't dare move much, afraid he'd be violently shoved away ; after all, the goal here was just to hide Enjolras until his friend walked past them, not to make out against the lockers.

But then the most miraculous thing happened. Enjolras' eyes slid shut and his hands reached up to gingerly hold the hem of Grantaire's sweater.

If Enjolras was relaxing into this kiss, then Grantaire sure wasn't going to fight his own instincts : he closed his eyes, too, and his free hand, which had been resolutely stuck to his side, rose up to cradle Enjolras' cheek. His skin was so soft.

The experience bordered on overwhelming, really. The air between them, the gentle drag of Enjolras' nose on his cheek, the content little sounds he was making, the warmth their bodies were creating... Grantaire wanted to die in this kiss because nothing would ever top this moment. He didn't even want to ruin it by slipping his tongue in there.

« Oh my God, Enjolras ! You filthy animal ! » a voice behind them shouted.

« I'm not actually sure what's going on ? » Joly wondered aloud as Grantaire reluctantly detached himself from Enjolras. Right. Joly had stood there the whole time. Shit.

Greedy, Grantaire placed a couple more kisses on his mouth and used his thumb to stroke his cheek a little. He was ecstatic when Enjolras actually chased his lips as he moved back, a dazed look in his eyes. At least he'd given as good as he'd received.

« I'm sorry it didn't work, » he said, voice rough.

« What ? »

Grantaire smiled. Enjolras sounded wrecked. « The diversion, » he explained, his eyes shooting to Enjolras' friend. He was about to explode with glee and, surely, all the little him would start bouncing off the walls.

« Oh. Oh ! Right, the diversion ! Thank you for trying, though. »

The high blush on Enjolras' cheeks as he was dragged away by his now squealing friend stayed with Grantaire for days, until he spoke to him next.


	2. Spin The Bottle/Seven Minutes in Heaven AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one features:
> 
> *shy, pining Enjolras  
> *oblivious Grantaire

« We're all adults, though. Surely there's a rule somewhere that says noone over twenty-five should play Spin The Bottle ? Ferre ? »

« Oh, because I'm the expert ? » Combeferre said with a raised eyebrow. « Sorry, Joly. But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say there isn't a rulebook for Spin The Bottle. »

« However that may be, this is still highly unhygienic. »

« Are you saying you don't trust where my mouth has been ? » Courfeyrac asked with a devilish grin.

« I SO don't trust where your mouth has been, » Joly confirmed.

« Now, that's just rude ! »

« See, Joly, with the way you're arguing right now, it doesn't sound like we're adults at all. Ergo, we should play Spin The Bottle like the late teenagers we are, » Jehan settled. « Now, sit down. »

Enjolras was by no means enchanted by Jehan's intervention. He'd been rooting for Joly, to be honest. Enjolras had several reasons he didn't want to play Spin The Bottle, one of which was was sitting on the other side of Combeferre's coffee table, green eyes sparkling with pleasure as he listened to their friends' banter.

Enjolras' stomach did a somersault ;Grantaire was so attractive when he dropped the cynicism h used as a shield. Enjolras didn't want to have to kiss him. 

He didn't want to see the expression on Grantaire's face as he drew close because he suspected it would be the opposite of delighted. Instead he'd get aggravation then a wall of indifference. Enjolras could just picture it. Then Grantaire would make some lewd comment that would make all their friends laugh and turn this one kiss into a joke. It would break Enjolras' heart.

« Annnnnnd, Aire ! You're the first lucky guy I get to kiss tonight ! » Courfeyrac exclaimed, startling Enjolras, who saw the first spin had indeed landed on Grantaire.

Grantaire jumped to his feet, held up a finger to ask everyone to hold up a second, then strutted to the bathroom. The sound of cupboards opening and closing, then he emerged back out. He motioned for Courfeyrac to stand up, which the brunette did, then showed the company what he'd retrieved : a small baby wipe. Hs friend laughed even as he washed his mouth, provoking everyone's hilarity. He then threw the wipe behind him with a flourish.

Enjolras was disgustingly infatuated with this over-dramatic fool.

He watched as Grantaire grabbed Courfeyrac and dipped him to lay a chaste but theatrical kiss on his lips, prompting a heartfelt round of applause from everyone in attendance, Joly included. Even Enjolras joined in, although his contribution was more of a slow-clap than a standing ovation.

« Okay, Aire, your turn, » Jehan sing-songed.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire sat back down and Grantaire spun the bottle. Enjolras felt the ground open beneath him when, despite his silent chant of « not me, not me, not me », the bottle's neck ended up pointing right at him.

« I'm not doing that, » he blurted out immediately.

« Aww, but Enj... » Courfeyrac started with a pout.

Then Enjolras' eyes strayed to Grantaire's, which happened a lot, and he swore he could see the moment Grantaire's demeanour changed : the light in his eyes dimmed and his easy smile contorted until it became an ugly reflection of the contempt he felt for Enjolras.

« No, I just- I'm not big on PDA at the best of times, you know that. Kissing is something that requires intimacy, which is as much a secluded place as it is a state of mind, and my friends staring at me while I do it would make me very uncomfortable and- »

« So what you're saying, » Courfeyrac interrupted his rambling, « is that you'd do it if it were just the two of you ? »

Enjolras had no idea where that rant had come from or why it was that angle his brain had chosen to argue his decision. He'd just been unable to stay silent and let Grantaire assume Enjolras simply didn't want to kiss him. And now he'd painted himself into a corner.

His mouth opened but no sound came out. There was no way around that one. « Yes ?»

A beat of silence then, « alright ! » Courfeyrac clapped his hands once. « Time to turn Spin The Bottle into Seven Minutes in Heaven ! You can go, err, behind the kitchen counter ! » he announced, gleeful.

This sudden turn of events seemed to agree with everyone (even Joly, the traitor), and they ushered Grantaire and Enjolras to the kitchen. Next thingeh knew, Enjolras was sitting next to Grantaire on the kitchen floor, their backs against the counter.

« Now get to it ! » Courfeyrac shouted over it. « We're literally on the other side so don't even think about running. »

« I said intimacy was a state of mind ! How is that set-up intimate ? » Enjolras tried one last time.

The only response he got was a frankly evil burst of laughter and the sounds of retreating footsteps. Sighing, Enjolras turned towards Grantaire, whose face was carefully blank. Ah, there was the wall of indifference.

« We don't have to do anything, » he said at once.

« I know, » Enjolras assured him. « It's not like our friends are going to sequester us if we don't scrupulously respect the rules of this stupid game. »

« Our friends wouldn't, but what about Courfeyrac ? » he cracked a small smile. It sent Enjolras' heart aflutter.

« There are two of us and Courfeyrac's a skinny little fucker ; we could totally take him. »

Not used to hearing Enjolras curse, a giggle bubbled out of Grantaire. Enjolras' heart rate redoubled and he just gazed at him.

« Do I have something on my face ? » Grantaire asked.

« We should do the thing. » 

« The thing ? What thing ? »

« The Seven Minutes in Heaven thing, » he replied before he lost his courage. Had he really just said that ?!

« The Sev- Kissing ? » Grantaire's eyebrows almost met his hairline. « You want to kiss me ? »

« We don't have to do it for seven minutes ! Or even do it at all if you don't want to, I mean- »

« No ! No ! It's just- I didn't think you would want to. »

Enjolras shrugged. He shrugged. What a brilliant orator he was. So eloquent.

If Grantaire were to run his mouth in the filthy way Enjolras dreaded, at least they wouldn't have an audience and perhaps he wouldn't feel as humiliated. And wow, his brain-to-mouth filter had left the building tonight, hadn't it ? First that rant about intimacy, then outright propositioning his crush, whom he'd sworn not to kiss... He was literally setting himself up for heartbreak. But he couldn't backpedal now.

Enjolras pointedly shifted so he was facing Grantaire, who mirrored him at once. They probably wore matching solemn expressions, although for different reasons. Enjolras felt nervous. It was more likely that Grantaire felt obligated.

He leant over, bracing a hand on the linoleum beneath him. He closed his eyes before their lips even met, just in case Grantaire would make a face as he approached. When they did meet, it was the softest of touch, just a tentative press of lips. At least until Grantaire took matters into his own hands and gently bit Enjolras' lower lip. Enjolras couldn't suppress a short moan or the urge to sink his fingers into Grantaire's curls.

« Mmh, this is nice... » he murmured in between kisses. « Really nice. »

« Are you really reviewing the kiss like some kind of sports anchor ? » Grantaire pulled back, bewildered.

« Sorry. Just- it is nice, » he replied. He looked down, suddenly even more timid.

« Nice is one word for it, » Grantaire said softly, raising Enjolras' chin with a finger so he was looking him in the eye again. « Amazing. Incredible. Hot. These work, too. »

Enjolras felt his heart soar and he couldn't help the huge grin that spread across his face. He felt awkward as hell, sure, but also like he had wings and was about to take flight. Because Grantaire was giving him a reassuring smile, like everything was going to be alright, and he was enclined to believe him.

Pushing his luck, Enjolras leant in again. Grantaire met him halfway, his mouth still stretched in a smile, slowly dragging their lips together before he resumed nipping at Enjolras, who could have sworn this was going to drive him insane. Both his hands flew to Grantaire's hair and pulled a little. This time, it was the dark-haired man who moaned.

« Good, » Enjolras mumbled lowly.

« Oh my God, Enjolras, shut up, » Grantaire whined before diving back into the kiss.

He then proceeded to devour Enjolras' mouth, which effectively rendered him speechless, the subtle hints of tongue electrifying him. The sounds that came out of him were uncontrollable ; he was vaguely aware of breathy gasps and throaty little moans, but he couldn't have contained them if he'd tried.

« Alright, losers ! It's been seven min- Oh my God ! » 

Courfeyrac's loud voice had them jumping apart like two teenagers caught making out in the janitor's closet. Enjolras' eyes flickered away from Grantaire's, afraid of what he would find there, only to flutter back up when he felt fingers gingerly graze his.

Grantaire's eyes were overflowing with kindness and a shaky smile was tugging at his red, red lips. Enjolras, hard-pressed to catch his breath, simply laced their fingers together and squeezed once.

« Okay ? » Grantaire mouthed silently as Courfeyrac kept on freaking out above them. Enjolras nodded and found that, yes, he was okay. He was actually more at peace than he had any right to be after such a momentous event.

He grinned. « Let's take him down, » he suggested, briefly looking up at Courfeyrac. Grantaire stiffled a giggle and braced a leg under himself so it would be easier to stand back up. « Three, two, one- »


	3. Sculptor and Muse AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes:  
> \- successful sculptor R  
> \- young lawyers Enjolras and Bahorel  
> \- a selfie with a statue

Bahorel reclined in his chair, balancing it on its two hind legs with maddening ease. Worse : he did it completely naturally while telling Enjolras about a case he'd been assigned at the law firm they both worked for and holding his pint at the same time. Enjolras could only wish his multi-tasking extended to such futile yet impressive feats.

Noone else in the Musain seemed to appreciate Bahorel's Cirque du Soleil exploit, which was just a shame. And, if anyone had been looking, they would have had the privilege to witness him give a small yelp and almost fall over when his phone vibrated in his trousers' pockets. Enjolras barely suppressed a cackle.

« Still not used to the new phone, then ? » he asked instead, trying (and failing) to keep the amusement out of his voice.

« The vibrations are so fucking strong that each time I get a text, it feels like an earthquake in my trousers. » A beat of silence and then, « if Bossuet had been here, he would've made a 'that's what she said' joke. »

« So sorry I can't be of help, » he replied dryly.

« Don't worry about it, » Bahorel sighed as he unlocked his phone. « Hey, I've got a text from Aire. »

« Oh, what does he say ? Is he stopping by ? We haven't seen him in weeks... » 

Enjolras sounded over-eager even to his own ears, but hiscrush on Grantaire had intensified in the last couple of months and he missed the artist more than he could tell his friends. He still hadn't told them, although he had suspicions some of them were on to something.

Like Bahorel, who chuckled and grinned mischieviously. « It's only been a week and a half, and he's got this commission- ah, allow me to correct myself, he had this commission ! Looks like he's finished ! »

Then the man burst into laughter as he shoved his phone under Enjolras' nose. He squinted at the bright screen for a second before he realised what he was staring at. Taking the phone from his friend, he studied the photo Grantaire had just sent.

The man was obviously in his studio ; Enjolras recognised the huge bay window behind him. His curls were held back from his face with a black headband but his dark hair was more grey than brown thanks to the dust that had settled on it as he worked. The photo was, Enjolras guessed, supposed to show off the sculpture he'd just finished, except you could only see half of the young man's face, on account that Grantaire was blocking it with his own as he kissed the marble lips of the statue.

A statue that looked suspiciously like Enjolras.

« Is that me ? » he asked, his heartbeat picking up.

« Did you think he was joking when he said you were the inspiration for his next piece ? » Bahorel replied with a raised eyebrow.

Enjolras looked at the photo some more, thumbing the screen so it wouldn't go black. The stubble around his mouth showed he'd either come in very early in the morning or been there even longer. Scruffy Grantaire was so sexy.

Enjolras wanted to ravage him. Why hadn't he ravaged him already ? 

They were so different, though, yet also very much the same in that they were both career-driven maniacs : Grantaire's art was starting to get recognised so he was saying yes to all the commissions that came pouring in, and Enjolras had stopped counting the extra hours he put in at the office. After all, he'd been told by Valjean himself that he very well could be the youngest junior partner the firm had ever seen.

So they were different, but not so much, and Enjolras had been making a list of all the things they had in common anyway, hoping to reach the absolute conviction that asking Grantaire out would not result in disaster.

Thumbing the screen again, Enjolras saw that the artist had attached a caption to the photo : « My new boyfriend's got lips like an angel's. Probably not as sweet as the real thing, though. »

« Did you read the caption ? » Enjolras asked abruptly.

« There's a caption ? »

Enjolras put the phone down and stood up amidst Bahorel's midly alarmed questions. He pulled on his coat, buttoned it, wrapped his scarf around his neck, chugged the last of his coffee like it was whiskey (cold, disgusting), and left. He was on a mission.

It took him no time to reach the street down the Musain to rent a Vélib'. It took him slightly longer to get to Grantaire : he made a stop to buy some mints (that cold coffee had been vile), respected the red lights and got into a bit of an argument with the driver of a car who didn't care enough about other people's safety to use their freaking blinkers.

In the end, though, he made it to Grantaire's studio alive. He was surprised when he got buzzed in without stating who he was. Climbing the wooden stairs, he realised what he was about to do and started sweating the way he should have on the bike earlier. 

The door to Grantaire's creative haven was already open when he reached the third floor, but he knocked anyway before he crossed the threshold. The bust of, well, him, was standing in the middle of the large room, as perfect but more impressive than in the picture. Grantaire was busy sweeping the floor around it, a somber expression on his face. It was a startling departure from the guy in the photo.

« Hey. Were you expecting company? »

« You, » Grantaire said with a humourless smile. « Bahorel texted me you were probably on your way. »

« I had this thought... maybe you'd want to try the real thing, see if the muse can comapre to the masterpiece, » he said, reminding Grantaire of his own words. 

The sculptor remained very still, hands on the broom, looking shell-shocked. His mouth and his brown eyes were wide open, a slightly manic look to them. He hadn't exploded in a rage, though, so that was encouraging. Enjolras took a step closer, jolting Grantaire out of his trance.

« What are you offering, here ? » the dark-haired man stuttered. It was adorable and, for some reason, filled Enjolras with confidence.

He walked through the room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet. He couldn't hold in the devilish smile that stretched his lips. He stopped when the tip of his shoes met Grantaire's and took the broom. It fell to the floor with a clatter. They were so close he could smell the coffee on the artist's breath. It was more rapid than usual, and Enjolras' tongue darted out to lick his lower lip in anticipation.

« I want to put your theory to the test. Let me see if I remember what the photo looked like, » he whispered wickedly. « I think it was something like this... »

His eyes fluttered shut when his lips touched the corner of Grantaire's mouth, a teasing brush of skin on delicate skin. Grantaire's breath itched and Enjolras applied pressure one more time before he pulled back.

Grantaire kept his eyes closed. Swallowed painfully before he opened them again and cleared his throat.

« Actually, it was on the other side, » he said, voice rough. « You've got the wrong angle. »

« Oh ? Okay. My bad, » Enjolras smiled as he adjusted his position, lips hovering over Grantaire's but on the other side. « Like this, then ? »

« Mmhmm. »

Enjolras kept the kiss light when he connected with Grantaire again. The man barely kissed him back but he'd stopped breathing, in a rapture. Enjolras wasn't faring much better ; the control he was exerting on himself not to consume Grantaire entirely was wearing thin. 

It snapped when the sculptor exhaled the hottest moan. Enjolras' mouth covered Grantaire's then, but he soon threw himself in the act as well and gave as good as he got ; he started by bringing their bodies flush together, snaking a leg between Enjolras' and wrapping an arm around him. Enjolras did the same and used his free hand to hold Grantaire's face in place so he could control the kiss, relishing the feeling of stubble beneath his fingers.

« You need to lose the fucking scarf, » Grantaire ordered sternly, and wasn't that a huge turn-on. « How am I supposed to know if you're better than the statue if I can't see all of you ? »

« All of me ? » Enjolras grinned wolfishly. Grantaire's eyes flashed black.

« Taking the scarf off will do for now. And the coat needs to go, too. »

Enjolras lost no time getting rid of his bulky winter wear and didn't bother looking for something to hang his coat. He just dropped it to the floor. He had important things to do, like letting Grantaire grab him by the back of his neck to pull him back into another kiss.

If he'd thought things were growing heated before, it was nothing compared to the way the artist's callused hands kneaded at his flesh now, massaging the cords of muscles and rendering him liquid. He couldn't pinpoint the moment power had shifted from him to Grantaire, but he wouldn't have changed it for the world. The passion was overwhelming and drowning in it sounded fabulous.

The sculptor was relentless in his exploration, licking his top lip with the tip of his tongue, tugging at the lower one with sharp teeth. He only drew back when breathing became absolutely necessary. Enjolras laid his forehead on Grantaire's shoulder and stayed there as long as it took for them both to stop panting, Grantaire petting Enjolras' hair the whole time, Enjolras' thumb carressing the small strip of skin between Grantaire's shirt and his jeans.

« So ? Which one is it, then ? » Enjolras asked, daring to break the silence and laying an open-mouthed kiss on Grantaire's throat. « The statue ? The real thing ? »

« You, fuck. Always you, my fierce muse. Enjolras. »


	4. Under The Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one features:
> 
> \- Grantaire as an awesome teacher  
> \- Courfeyrac shenanigans  
> \- Enjolras wielding a saw

« Do you want some eggnog, Ferre ? » Enjolras smiled at his best friend's woolen sweater, a cheerful reindeer head with Blitzen written on it underneath. A couple of Christmases back, Jehan had knitted a few of his friends a reindeer sweater, and they now awaited Christmas time eagerly so they could bust it out again.

« No, thanks ! You know I'm a mulled wine kind of guy, » Combeferre smiled as he lifted his mug to show Enjolras it was still half full.

He was currently reclining on their sofa, petting Jehan's hair. The poet laid with his head in his lap, softly humming along to the Christmas carols that played in the background and looking at their two Christmas trees, because « I can't decide which one I prefer ».

It was true that both of them were veritable masterpieces.

*

_9 days ago..._

 

Enjolras' hands were skipping across his laptop's keys when he heard the door bang open. He jumped from his desk chair to race towards the living-room to see what kind of apocalypse had just entered his home. He stopped dead in his tracks when it turned out that the apocalypse was Courfeyrac's rear end. He stared, bewildered.

The young man was pulling on a green monstrosity that Enjolras purely refused to acknowledge as the Christmas tree his friend had just purchased. The base of it was so huge it couldn't fit in the door. Courfeyrac was groaning as he pulled, adjusting his gloved grip on the trunk.

« Are you pushing or are you letting me do all the work ? » Courfeyrac yelled towards the staircase, out-of-breath.

« Fuck you, are _you_ doing anything ? » Bahorel's angry voice answered, and that was a surprise because he hadn't been an initial part of that trip.

« Guys, I'm under there. Show some mercy ? » And that was Bossuet, but his voice was muffled, as if he were... Oh Jesus, Bossuet was under the tree. How big was that thing ?

Enjolras then went into crisis mode, which was his best mode according to many of his friends. Without a word, he strode past Courfeyrac and crouched to the floor to try and locate Bossuet. When his bald head peaked from in between branches, he instructed him to grab his hand, even though « there won't be anyone to support the tree, then ! »

When Bossuet was safe and in the bathroom getting started on cleaning the cuts on his face, Enjolras headed towards the built-in cabinet that stood between his and Combeferre's bedrooms. It contained everything they rarely needed, like tools, gardening supplies and, ah yes, there it was, a saw.

Courfeyrac, who was still pulling on the damned tree, cried when he saw him come back.

« Enjolras, no ! Don't do that, this tree is perfect. »

« Yeah ? Well it's either the tree or the door, and before you say something you're going to regret, understand that I will not hesitate to use this rusty saw on your neck before I start on your precious tree. »

« It was such a majestic tree, » Bossuet sighed as he came back into the room, his face covered in butterfly stitches. He took one look at Enjolras and changed his stance. « But I see that you look a lot like a madman with a saw, so I'm going to nod and agree with everything you say. Yep, the tree needs to go. »

« I said that about three floors ago, you jerks, » Bahorel shouted from the staircase. « I'm never answering your calls again, Courfeyrac. »

Enjolras waded in. It took him a while to cut the tree in half, as well as a lot of sweat but only a little blood. The tears came entirely from Courfeyrac's eyes, which Enjolras shouldn't have found so satisfying. When he emerged from the massacre, his friend pulled his part of the tree further into the apartment, a sad pout on his face. Bossuet stepped in to help Bahorel carry the rest of it inside before going back to the bathroom to retrieve what was left of the butterfly stitches.

« Next year, you're not in charge, » Enjolras deadpanned.

*

The bigger part of the Christmas tree sat in the corner, literally touching the ceiling, while the smaller one sat next to the TV. Both had been decorated with all the decorations they'd managed to gather between them, and if Jehan was anything like Enjolras, he'd have a hard time choosing between the two mismatched trees. He let his gaze wander around the rest of the apartment.

Fairy lights had been hung all over. They'd foregone the overhead ceiling light and turned on little lamps to create a cosy atmosphere. Everything in the house screamed Christmas. It was perfect.

So it was still a bit early in December to be celebrating, but almost all of Les Amis had plans to go back to their families for the holidays, so when Enjolras had offered to host an Almost-Christmas dinner at their place, everyone had enthusiastically agreed.

« Ho ho ho, merry Almost-Christmas ! »

Grantaire's cheerful shout as he entered the apartment was met with equally cheerful greetings from the present guests, Jehan's the loudest when he spotted Grantaire's choice of wear for the evening ; he did look quite dashing in his Comet sweater, his wind-tousled hair threatening to flop into his eyes.

Enjolras was the only one who didn't join, opting for what had to be a silly little smile instead. To say he'd been waiting for the man would have been an understatement.

« How was your day ? » he asked into his shoulder when Grantaire engulfed him in an enthusiastic hug.

« It was great ! You remember Nicolas, right ? The kid I told you about ? » He pulled back to see Enjolras nod and went on, a glint in his eye. « Well, he told me his parents applied for that art camp I told them I'd write a recommendation for, so now he's probably going to get in and spend the summer learning art stuff ! »

« Art stuff ? » Enjolras grinned, raising an eyebrow at Grantaire's choice of words.

« Yes ! All the art stuff ! » he replied excitedly. Enjolras' teasing hadn't even registered.

It had taken a while for Enjolras to realise that Grantaire's lack of involvement in Les Amis wasn't an apathetic response rooted in his cynicism and that, actually, Grantaire was passionate about more than his full glass. He didn't participate because he was busy, and not bar-hopping.

It had also taken that long for him to see that Grantaire had taken a teaching job in the most disadvantaged suburban neighbourhood this side of the river not because he'd desperately needed the money but because he cared about these kids and often went beyond the line of duty for them.

It had taken a good two weeks for him to stop feeling disgusted with himself for failing to imagine Grantaire as a complex human being, and a little longer still to start acknowledging why he felt so bad about it. After a few days of incredulous staring into nothingness and internal screaming, Enjolras had gone to Combeferre for some counselling.

*

_2 months ago..._

 

They were sitting on the couch, Combeferre with a cup of tea in his hands while Enjolras played with his fingers. Combeferre, bless him, didn't comment on it.

« I think I like Grantaire. »

« Well of course you do, he's your friend, no matter how difficult your relationship is, » Combeferre shot back automatically.

« No, I mean... » Enjolras bit his lip, « like _like_ him. »

There was a beat of silence, then Combeferre blinked. Took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Let out a short wail that startled Enjolras and made him wonder if he'd broken his best friend.

« Did I say something ? » he asked, a hint of apprehension tinting his voice.

« No ! It's just- How can I help you, Enjolras ? »

« I don't know, » he groaned before he started chewing his index fingernail, the ultimate proof he was a nervous wreck.

« May you could... own up, » Combeferre shrugged. « Ask him out. Just go like, 'you should take me for a drink', and you can downplay it if he looks appalled. Which he won't, I'm pretty sure. »

« 'You should take me for a drink' ? » Enjolras repeated thoughtfully, trying the words out. « It's actually quite brilliant. Make a joke out of it if the reaction is negative, make plans if it's positive. It's such a shame it doesn't into consideration the fact that I'm a massive coward when it comes to these things. »

« Enjolras, » Combeferre sighed. « I'm 95% certain Grantaire's reaction won't be negative, and you know how serious I am about my statistics. »

« How can you be so certain ? » Enjolras squinted.

« I'll plead the fifth on that one and ask you to trust me. Can you do that ? »

Enjolras remained silent for five whole seconds. « 'You should take me for a drink', is that it ? »

« Precisely, » Combeferre nodded, calm confidence radiating out of him as he put his glasses back on.

*

« I'm glad Nicolas has you for a teacher, » Enjolras smiled, making Grantaire blush.

« Stop it, you big softie, » he replied with a light shove to his shoulder.

That was another thing Enjolras had discovered about Grantaire : he was awful at taking compliments. Which meant that he showered him with them as often as he could in the hopes that he'd believe at least some of them. He never wanted Grantaire to feel bad about himself because he was a spectacular human being.

Enjolras felt a presence at his back before Grantaire glanced behind him. The teacher's eyebrows shot up as he took in the sight. Enjolras, expecting mischief, swiftly turned around.

« What the hell ? »

Courfeyrac was crouching down, probably in what he thought was a ninja-esque stance, trying to approach him and Grantaire with a-

« Is that a selfie stick ? » Enjolras asked, incredulous. « With mistletoe on it instead of a camera ? »

His friend had wound mistletoe on the bit that was supposed to hold the camera. There was so much of it that it looked like the plant had colonised the device, its tiny white orbs dangling from the leaves.

It was the most ridiculous Courfeyrac-related incident that had happened since, well, since the Christmas tree incident, but before that they'd had quite the peaceful year. The entire living-room was frozen in an implausible tableau, everyone giving a great owl impression thanks to the wide eyes they were sporting. Some were amused, others just plain surprised or confused.

« Courf, what are you doing ? »

Grantaire was obviously amongst the confused. The expression on his face reminded Enjolras of the day he'd gone and tested Combeferre's supposedly foolproof pick-up technique.

*

_1 month ago..._

 

« I'm sorry ? »

In retrospect, Enjolras should've expected Grantaire's reaction. Disbelief. Shock. He just stood there, holding his doorknob. Enjolras had spared just enough time to say hi before he'd blurted out Combeferre's magic sentence. That he now had to repeat.

« Umm, you should... take me for... a drink ? »

How in hell was Combeferre smooth enough to pull this off ? Enjolras really needed to reconsider his best friend 's suavity and enquire about his love life, discretion be damned. He was fairly sure he was sweating buckets under his coat, his heart was trying to fly out of his ribcage, and the desire to flee was strong enough that he was thankful his legs felt like lead and made it physically impossible.

« As in... on a date ? » Grantaire asked, eyes wide and sounding like he doubted the answer would be yes.

«Perhaps we could discuss the proper terminology over one of those fancy cocktails that have ridiulous names ? And when we're done debating, you can tell me if it was a date or not ? » Two whole sentences, grammaticaly correct ; where was his medal?

« Are you sure ? »

« Only if you want to ! »

« I- Yes, I'd like that ! » Grantaire exclaimed like he couldn't bear the thought that Enjolras would think him reluctant. « It just... came a bit out of left field, you know ? »

« Actually, » he shot back earnestly, « I've been thinking about it for a while, but I was scared to ask. »

Grantaire looked poleaxed. And he was still holding onto his front door like a lifeline. As for himself, Enjolras couldn't believe he'd had the guts to ask Grantaire out. What was more, he'd said yes ! So really, he needed to leave so that they could have some time to process the enormity of what had just happened.

« I'll text you a time and place and you can let me know if it's alright with you, » he smiled as he backed off.

He heard Grantaire's stuttered goodbye as he retreated down the stairs, his legs still heavy but his heart so aflutter it was about to take flight.

*

They'd been on three dates since. They'd gone spendidly except for one thing. A detail Enjolras couldn't shake off even though he kept on telling himself it didn't matter because he got to spend time with Grantaire anyway.

He was happy. And yet.

Why hadn't they kissed ? Three dates and there hadn't been so much as a peck on the lips, only kisses on the cheek, and while these did make the butterflies in Enjolras' stomach go wild, he couldn't help but wonder what was stopping Grantaire.

He knew it wasn't his fault because he'd gone in for a kiss at the end of each date, « no kissing on the first date » be damned. If he felt like it, he was going to do it. But each time, Grantaire had deflected : a sudden sound he'd heard to their right, a coughing fit, his buzzing phone... Whenever the tension between them had become unbearable, he'd just left.

Enjolras didn't want to push it, didn't want to push him, but he'd have to address it sooner rather than later. He really wanted to kiss Grantaire.

« Look, I... don't think he's going anywhere, » Grantaire murmured so that only Enjolras could hear him. « Maybe I could kiss you and it would, I don't know, break the spell ? » He turned towards him rather sharply, more surprised by this sentence than by Courfeyrac's shenanigans. « We don't have to, it was just a suggestion. »

« Here ? In front of everyone ? » Enjolras tried to murmur back, only for his voice to come out a bit strangled.

« Yeah, I mean, if you don't mind. I'm pretty sure they're going to turn away anyway. » He looked so shy, it was the cutest thing. Enjolras was torn between kissing the breath out of him and squishing his blushing cheeks, he was so adorable.

« I'd like that, » he whispered instead, making sure to give Grantaire a smile so he'd know he wasn't doing it because he had to. « You'd better close your eyes, Mistletoe, » he shot behind him without breaking eye contact with Grantaire.

And indeed, when Enjolras took the final step that placed him in Grantaire's space, he heard the others clear their throats as if they'd just woken up from a trance. His ears picked up retreating footsteps, and a kind soul even tried to draw everyone's attention to one of the trees' baubles.

Grantaire gently grabbed his wrists, rubbing little circles on his pulse points, and that was all it took for his world to narrow down to this beautiful man, everything elde fading in the background. It felt like a very solemn moment. 

They were standing so close now that he could feel him breathe, his chest rising and falling, the soothing rhythm a tangible comfort to his nerves. Enjolras slipped out of Grantaire's hold so he could rest his hands on the teacher's hips, pulling him in. Grantaire stumbled into him and caught himself by wrapping his arms around Enjolras' shoulders.

It was Grantaire who moved in first. He closed his eyes a second and, when they touched, it was the softest brush of lips but it sent tingles through Enjolras' entire body. His eyes had remained open, so he didn't miss the troubled expression on Grantaire's face as he drew back an inch.

« Are you alright ? » Enjolras whispered, concerned.

« You're not mad at me ? » Grantaire asked.

« Mad at you ? Why ? »

« For making you kiss me. In public. It pretty much makes things official now. » He said it like it was a... bad thing ?

« And you don't want that ? » Enjolras frowned.

« No ! » he exclaimed, but still quietly enough that noone who'd stuck around would hear. « I thought _you_ wouldn't want that ! I was trying to, you know, give you an out. »

« Give me a- what ? Grantaire, you're not making sense right now, » he said, shaking his head to help him clear it and understand. Grantaire's arms slowly slipped from his shoulders, his hands coming to rest in the crook of Enjolras' elbows instead.

« In case you decided things weren't working out between us and you wanted out of... the thing. I figured that if we kept things simple, you wouldn't feel as bad for backing out and I wouldn't feel as shitty. »

Enjolras felt numb. Grantaire couldn't possibly think so lowly of himself that even after the three fantastic dates they'd been on, he still doubted Enjolras' enthusiasm for their budding relationship ?

But then, Grantaire looked down. And he shrugged. Apparently yes, he could, and it snapped Enjolras right out of his stunned silence ; he let go of Grantaire's hips to cup his face and kissed him. Properly kissed him. With none of the other man's gentleness and all the passion he could put into it so that Grantaire would feel everything he was feeling.

When he finally pulled away, Grantaire's full lips were red from the way he'd nibbled on them. Enjolras regretted nothing. The teacher kept his eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar a few seconds, as if he was having trouble coming back to himself. Enjolras carressing his cheeks probably wasn't helping. He dropped his hands to Grantaire's neck, and the man opened his eyes.

« I don't want an out. I want to be your boyfriend, and for our friends to get cavities because we'll just be that cute. I want to kiss you, and I want you to kiss me, because we're in a commited relationship. It took me fucking forever to ask you out, and you have no idea how much courage, so now that I have you I am not letting you go. Are we clear ? »

There were a few seconds where Grantaire just stood there looking at him, but then he nodded. Or at least he tried to with the grip Enjolras had on his neck.

« It was... mildly threatening, as far as confessions go, » he croacked out.

« I'd rather say it was intense, if you don't mind. Otherwise it kind of makes me look like a maniac, » Enjolras smirked. « What do you think, though ? »

« I think you're an intense maniac. »

« I meant about my proposition. Can we agree that we're dating ? Exclusively ? Boyfriends ? »

This time, it was Grantaire who leant in for a kiss. If you could call it that. It was more like two smiles pressing together.

« Yes, » Grantaire finally agreed when he pulled back. « Exclusive boyfriends. »

They spent a few seconds staring at each other adoringly. Enjolras could tell they were already sickeningly sweet.

Someone cleared their throat behind them. When Enjolras turned around, he was surprised to see that Bossuet had taken Courfeyrac's place, the selfie stick still hanging above his and Grantaire's heads. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

« Courfeyrac's arms were cramping. Can we go open our presents, now? »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long this took! Real life sucks because it's got a tendency to just throw horrible stuff at you when you least expect it. It's exactly what happened here.


	5. Prom chaperones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story includes:
> 
> \- mutually pining teachers  
> \- terrible puns  
> \- awkward flirting  
> \- a shrewd bunch of teenagers

« There are not enough words in this beautiful language to explain how much I don't want to be here right now. » Grantaire struggled to hear Enjolras's words over the pounding beat of the music.

« You mean with me or- »

« Not everything is about you, Grantaire, » Enjolras sighed. « I suspect we're barely going to see each other tonight. You'll be at one end of the gym and I'll be on the other side, keeping an eye out for mischief. »

« For Courfeyrac, then, » he deadpanned.

« I searched him in the teachers' room when he arrived, he's good. That kid over there, on the other hand... » he started as he made a beeline for the teenager in question. Grantaire burst out laughing. His colleague didn't even turn around to glare at him.

Unlike Enjolras, Grantaire intended on enjoying this prom. He volunteered to chaperone all the school dances. It was his fifth year in a row. It was a fantastic study in anthropology for starters, to see the groups and cliques mix or keep to themselves, and Grantaire liked seeing his students in a different light.

He'd had some of his most interesting conversations with students at school dances. Kids who found themselves ostracised when they usually were the cream of the crop. Kids who started the evening as shy wallflowers but evolved enough in a handful of hours to go out and try an awkward dance. Kids who were here as a fuck you, kids who didn't want to be here at all, kids who... There were so many stories, and every last one was so important to him.

This one's theme was even pretty neat, really. The giant cardboard Eiffel Tower by the refreshments table, the big lanterns that hung all over the gym as well as the French flag pennants really set the mood. As for Jehan, who'd opened the ball with an upbeat air of accordeon, he was probably still reeling from all the applause. Most students had even foregone regular prom attire to don typical post-war clothing : the gym was a sea of berets and caps, knee-length skirts and suspenders.

Grantaire loved school dances.

But let's be honest, he thought as he watched Enjolras scold a teenager almost as tall as he was, arms folded across his chest while he pointedly looked him in the eye, he didn't just come here for the kids.

Every year he volunteered and every year he managed to talk Courfeyrac into volunteering with him. Then, it was a matter of days, sometimes only hours, before Grantaire's favourite domino effect : Courfeyrac convinced Jehan, who convinced Combeferre, who convinced Enjolras. And, lo and behold, Grantaire was going to prom with Enjolras. Sort of.

Grantaire wished he were more like Combeferre. Not to steal his job as youngest principal in their school district, no thank you, but so he could be an Enjolras-whisperer, too. At first he'd thought that the secret to that would be nice discussions on Enjolras' favourite topic, History. He'd been spectacularly wrong ; all their conversations had turned sour in under ten minutes due to, umm, divergent views. Grantaire would never be an Enjolras-whisperer.

He would never get to murmur in his ear. What a tragedy : Enjolras' ears were perfect and Grantaire could have spent hours contemplating them. That sounded creepy as hell. Well, sanity had deserted him four long years ago, about five seconds after Enjolras had set foot in the teachers' room for the first time.

Grantaire had been pondering whether to take out a question out of his test on Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, when he'd heard a commotion by the door and looked up. The most beautiful man in the history of creation had walked in. Features that belonged on a statue in a museum, charisma that sucked the air right out of the room (or was it just Grantaire's lungs?), eyes blue as a summer sky, and that hair... Waves that tumbled just past his chin in a golden halo... 

Yeah, that was when Grantaire's sanity had left the building. He hadn't even talked to him yet. That had done him in. Since then he'd just been that creepy guy who delighted in butting heads with the History teacher. Courfeyrac, Phys Ed teacher extraordinaire, liked reminding him that his crush was so obvious that this robot they'd sent on Mars could see it.

It was quite obvious to him that nothing would ever happen. If he was that painfully obvious and the man still hadn't said a thing, to hope would have been foolish. Grantaire was a lot of things, but he wasn't delusional.

« So, did James relinquish his contraband? » he asked Enjolras with a grin when he returned to the same spot he'd occupied before, standing so close that their shoulders brushed every time they breathed.

« He didn't have one, but he's definitely up to something. You know, I thought it was going to be Brendon Martin ? I can't see very well with the lights so low. How are we supposed to watch over a party when we're basically in the dark ? » Enjolras huffed.

« You should wear your glasses more often, » Grantaire chuckled. 

« They make me look like a mean teacher. I don't want to be a mean teacher, » he pouted.

« Frowning at students because you squint does not make you the picture of benevolence, either. »

He jumped in front of Grantaire. « Did someone tell you that ? »

Grantaire wasn't worried ; Enjolras looked heartbroken and concerned, not like he was about to hit him. Not like that time they'd been talking about anarchy as a viable form of government. Combeferre had needed to pry Enjolras off him when he'd gone for the front of his shirt and they'd ended up in the principal's office like two hooligans.

« Don't worry, no, » Grantaire laughed. « Geez, you need to relax. Your students like you. »

« Good. I know they'll never like me as much as they like you, but still. »

« Ah. Well, if it's any consolation, the kids only like me because there are basically no rules in my class. »

Enjolras was still in front of him, effectively blocking his view of the gym, so Grantaire couldn't miss the way his eyebrows shot up as he shook his head. How could one person be so attractive, even with that expression of disbelief on their face, he thought as he ran a self-conscious hand through his brown curls.

« What... are you talking about ? Your students love you, Grantaire. It's very telling that you spend as much time teaching as you do just talking to them. You just... have that thing that makes teenagers trust you. I see it year after year. I can't believe you don't. »

Grantaire was astounded. It wasn't everyday the man you had a mighty crush on showered you with praise, especially when you'd previously believed he only had begrudging respect for you. 

He remained dumb for a few moments and he could tell the exact moment when things turned awkward. Enjolras looked down and shuffled his feet. 

« Well, umm, thank you. »

Grantaire cleared his throat and averted his eyes, desperately searching for a diversion. Finally he spotted some scandalous behaviour. Bingo.

Two students were having a little too much fun out on the dance floor, joined in a kiss that would have made erotic novels look like a Dr. Seuss book. Stepping aside, he quickly excused himself (did he mumble, did he shout ? He had no idea), approached the couple and promptly started declaiming in a pompous manner that had the two teenagers jumping apart :

« This is the female form,  
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,  
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,  
But you must resist or you'll get kicked out of the dance. »

These young people looked mortified, especially the girl, who was clutching at her date's white shirt as if she were afraid he'd bolt. The young man, who had way too much gel in his hair, sweet Jesus, didn't dare meet Grantaire's eyes.

« That was Walt Whitman, and me at the end because the rest wasn't very conductive to the message I was trying to convey, » he addressed them, not unkindly. « I understand all too well the arousing power of formal wear coupled with romantic lighting, believe me. But we must exercise a little control over our bodies. We can. It's what sets us apart from the other animals, actually. So let's do that, alright ? »

Mister Too Much Gel grabbed his date's hand, entwined their fingers and, as if the gesture had brought him strength, finally looked up at Grantaire. And what do you know, he actually knew this kid ! From that one time he'd stepped in for Jehan. The young man risked a shy smile as he nodded, probably recognising Grantaire for the non-threat that he was.

« Good, now go on and enjoy your evening, » he smiled.

« Thank you, Mister Grantaire, » the young lady squeaked.

« And have a nice evening, too, » the boy (Noah ? Nicholas ?) grinned widely before they vanished into the crowd.

Grantaire frowned. It wasn't the first time tonight that one of his students, or even students he didn't know that well, had wished him a nice evening. While it wasn't infrequent, the well-wishes had reached an all-time high tonight. He really wanted to believe teenagers had suddenly become polite, and he would have dismissed it if not for the little quirk of their mouths each time the words had passed their lips. Did they know something Grantaire didn't ?

He didn't see Enjolras again for a while, and so he was saved from an awkward follow-up to their little moment. At least until Grantaire realised he'd lost his bowtie and started looking for it all over the gym. Then Enjolras popped up like a jack-in-a-box.

« What are you doing ? »

Grantaire almost knocked over a couple of students when he abruptly straightened up.

« Jesus Christ ! » he exclaimed, clutching his heart. « Are you trying to kill me ? »

« Sorry. I was just wondering what you were doing down there. It looks a bit sketchy. »

« I lost my bowtie. It wouldn't have happened if I'd been allowed to dress like any post-Liberation Frenchman. »

« It's to set us apart from the kids, it makes sense, » he shrugged. « So now you're trying to find your bowtie, in semi-darkness to boot, because it's the key accessory to your formal-yet-relaxed outfit ? » Enjolras grinned, cheeky. Grantaire's heart skipped a beat.

« Exactly. If I don't have my bowtie, leaving the first button open on my shirt is tacky. With the bowtie, I look just enough like I don't give a damn, but also like I did try the formal thing. It makes me look pretty dashing. »

« Yeah, it does. »

Enjolras didn't shout that part, but they were standing close enough that Grantaire read it on his lips. The playfulness had gone from his face, too, so by all means and purposes, it looked like Enjolras actually thought Grantaire was attractive.

He wasn't taking it back, either, or rushing to explain that it was just a trivial comment. He looked Grantaire right in the eye with a seriousness that bordered on intense, and Grantaire felt both like he was going to melt under that blue steel and like he needed to run away from it.

Were they having another moment ? So soon after the first one ? Grantaire was not ready. As a matter of fact, he was freaking out pretty badly. The implications of this revelation branched out and converged in his brain at so fast a pace he couldn't keep up with them. And he still hadn't found his bowtie.

« I need to find my bowtie. »

Before Enjolras could reply, Grantaire had already made his way halfway across the gym. He found his bowtie a few minutes later. A kind soul had very helpfully put it on the refrehsments table. It was good, too, because Grantaire's brain had gone on a little vacation and he was on autopilot.

Enjolras liked him ? It looked that way, didn't it ? Surely he wasn't jumping to conclusions here, he wasn't imagining things. He had to find one of his friends and expose the facts. Joly was good with facts. Grantaire set out to find the Physics teacher.

That's when the music stopped and the entire crowd turned towards the stage, suddenly abuzz. The election of prom rulers (Combeferre had abolished the gender-specifics « king » and « queen » a couple of years ago) wasn't Grantaire's favourite part of the evening, really. It remained a popularity contest and popularity, in the grand scheme of things, wouldn't mean a thing a few years from now and proved quite hurtful in the microcosm that was high school.

Combeferre took the stage, looking like he'd just stepped out of a James Bond movie. In this suit, every step screamed slick gentleman. He held a closed envelope in one hand and the two rulers that were the school's trophy for this election. Hardy har har, he may have looked like a bona-fide aristocrat, but Combeferre was actually a dork with a bad case of dad humour.

« Hello, everyone, welcome. First things first, I'd like to point out that I didn't let Mister Courfeyrac write me a speech this year so fear not, my intervention will only feature funny jokes. » In the dead silence that followed his words, one student giggled. One. It was worse than if noone had laughed at all. « Okay, » Combeferre coughed, « I hope you're enjoying yourselves, dancing to your rock metal bands. It's a good thing it's not raining in here, we wouldn't want them to rust... Metal, rust ? Do you guys get it ? » The entire student body groaned.

Grantaire wondered if second-hand embarrassment could kill. He certainly felt like dying. Suddenly, the mic stand vanished from the stage and was swallowed by the mass of students. Combeferre looked unimpressed.

« Hey ! Hey ! Don't leave, kids, we know you've been waiting for the results of this year's election. » Grantaire couldn't see Courfeyrac but instantly recognised his voice, here to save the night and the shredded remnants of his friend's dignity. « This year, as you all know, we've gone about this a bit differently. Thank you all for being such good sports, and when I announce the results, please remember to act accordingly. After all, we only want what's best for our prom rulers. »

Grantaire was intrigued. As far as he knew, nothing had changed : nominations, casting the ballot, it all seemed pretty standard to him. But he didn't get to ponder this much longer. Combeferre was looking down at where Courfeyrac had to be standing, and he had his Serious Principal Face on. The mic stand was back on stage in no time.

« Thank you for this intervention, Mister Courfeyrac. I'm too tired to deal with you right now but I'll see you in my office on Monday morning. » Now that made the kids laugh. Combeferre looked chuffed. « I guess we can skip to the results, then. » He ripped the envelope open. Took a deep breath when he saw the names on his card. « Okay. Your first prom ruler this year is... Mister Grantaire ! Mister Grantaire, if you would please join me on stage, as is customary. »

Grantaire's brain short-circuited for what felt like the hundredth time that night. What kind of joke was that ? But everyone was clapping, he distantly felt hands patting his back and pushing him towards the stage. Oh, the little shits, he thought as he recalled everyone's well-wishes tonight, they knew. He'd been set up. Well, at least it wasn't a Carrie sort of set-up.

He did his best to smile through his confusion and surprise, blindly shaking the hands extended towards him, and soon enough, he was standing next to Combeferre on stage, clutching his trophy.

« What's going on ? » he shouted in his ear to be heard above the deafening applause.

« Only good things, I promise, » Combeferre smiled reassuringly. « Do you have anything to say, anyone you'd like to thank ? » he said into the mic.

« Umm, no. Thank you, I guess ? I have no idea what's happening right now and if I don't get an explanation in the next ten minutes, I'll see you all in detention next Saturday. »

They laughed. Of course they laughed. Grantaire had never put anyone in detention in the ten-plus years he'd been a teacher.

« Alright. I don't want to draw out the suspense anymore so I'll move on to our second winner of the night. Your second prom ruler of the year is... Mister Enjolras ! Mister Enjolras, you know what to do. »

The room exploded in cheers again. Grantaire had officially entered the twilight zone. He looked on, incredulous, as Enjolras made his way to him through the parting crowd. He sought his eyes as soon as he set foot on stage and saw his own feelings reflected in Enjolras's eyes : disbelief, surprise, discomfort, wariness. And most of all, the will to get to the bottom of this farce.

Enjolras grabbed the mic as soon as he was close enough.

« I'll give two bonus points on their next test to anyone who can tell me what's going on right now. Raise your hands. »

A few laughs. A few raised hands, too. As if Enjolras of all people would ever actually resort to bribery. These kids had no idea who they were dealing with. Grantaire snorted, he couldn't help it. What a lovable dork.

« Please refrain from breaking the school's equipment, Mister Enjolras, » Combeferre interjected, gently prying the mic from his friend's hands. « Allow me to explain. You two were the only two entries for prom rulers this year. Apparently it was a unanimous decision amongst the student body. After I got over the surprise and my original reluctance, I had a meeting with our prom comity, who exposed their reasons. Incredibly, I found myself nodding along to every last one of them. Basically, » and there Combeferre covered the mic so only the two of them would hear, « the entire student body and, quite frankly, most of your colleagues, would love it if you could get your shit together and admit you've been pining for each other. Literally everyone has seen it but you and some people have their own sexual tension to deal with, thank you very much. »

« Oh my God, » Enjolras breathed, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Grantaire wasn't faring much better. His poor heart felt like it was going to burst and he could tell his eyes were about to fall out of their sockets.

« Anyway, » Combeferre resumed in the mic, « the prom comity selected a song. You've got six minutes to come to an agreement. Students, do keep in mind what Mister Courfeyrac said earlier. » At these words, a good third of the kids started shuffling towards the exits while the others simply turned around. « Would our prom rulers please get down and share the traditional first dance ? »

Grantaire all but floated down the stage. It didn't even occur to him that he could've said no and put a stop to this. He had the vague sense that the students were making a wide circle around them, providing a very decent dancing space.

It was Enjolras who brought him back to earth when he put his hands on his hips. It was the gentlest touch. Grantaire locked eyes with him. It was the first time Enjolras' weren't defiant. Right then he could only see insecurity and what Grantaire couldn't help but read as hope. Which was ludicrous, wasn't it ?

Jehan took the stage again and the most romantic melody came out of his accordeon, drowning the hushed chatter around them. Grantaire spotted Courfeyrac and Joly breaking the circle of young people, probably to keep them in check, should one of them try to sneak a glance and invade their privacy, if you could call it that.

Grantaire gingerly put his hands around Enjolras' neck. It took all his willpower not to stroke the hair that tickled his fingertips, it was so soft.

Enjolras cleared his throat. « So, it appears we were set up. »

« And everyone was in on it, too. » Grantaire looked away a second. « Why do you think they thought you liked me ? »

« Maybe they're a very perceptive bunch... »

Grantaire was so done with tonight. 

He was having a bit of an out-of-body experience there. He could see himself swaying to the music, so close to Enjolras, it was a fantasy come true. The problem lied in reconciling fantasy and reality, and he was having a hard time doing it.

Grantaire spluttered for a good five seconds. In the end, Enjolras sighed.

« Look, if you don't like me it's fine, there's no need to freak out. I'd thought that maybe you did, but apparently I was wrong. It's fine... Really, it's fine. »

« Oh my God, shut up, » Grantaire pleaded breathlessly, grabbing Enjolras' face between his hands as if he were going to vanish into thin air. « Give me some time to process this new information, the earth just shifted on its axis and I need time. »

Half delirious, Grantaire pulled Enjolras farther into him so he was all but hanging onto him, his head on his partner's shoulder as he rocked them from side to side. Enjolras was exemplary in his patience. Grantaire kept on exclaiming « you like me » very quietly, and he would just hum his assent in his ear.

Grantaire was slowly starting to believe he wasn't dreaming, hadn't been abducted by aliens and hadn't entered an alternative reality where all his wishes were fulfilled. This was his life, and although he had no idea what he'd done to deserve this crazy development, he welcomed it all the same.

« I can't believe it, » he said, eventually pulling back to look at Enjolras again.

« Obviously. »

« I like you, too, by the way ! » he added, almost as an afterthought. 

« Good. That was going to be my next question, » Enjolras pointed out dryly. « This is so romantic, I expected nothing less from an English teacher. » Grantaire rolled his eyes. « Come on, don't you have an appropriate poem for this occasion, Mister Grantaire ? »

« None of them would do you justice. Those dead writers had no idea what beauty looked like ; they'd never laid eyes on you. »

There was a beat of silence before the brightest smile illuminated Enjolras' entire face. « Okay, this was delightfully cheesy. »

« Oh, you want cheesy ? I can do cheesy. »

And with that, Grantaire shifted the grip he had on Enjolras and dipped him. Enjolras gasped and clung onto him, which only made him chuckle. Then he leant in and brushed his lips against Enjolras', featherlight. 

Enjolras' blue eyes flared and his grasp on Grantaire's shoulders tightened.

« Too soon ? » Grataire winced as he hauled them both upright, still keeping the other man close.

« No ! No, that was... perfect, » he smiled.

« Ladies and gentlemen, » Jehan whispered in the microphone, his voice barely audible above the accordeon, « I'm happy to announce that, as you would say, this ship has sailed. »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem from which Grantaire borrows three lines is The Body Electric, by Walt Whitman.
> 
> I'm so sorry I haven't posted in forever. Real life, work, all those terrible things kept me away.


End file.
